I Am What I Play

My return to Little Radio! Thanks to Jimmy and Dave and the crew for inviting me back... it was A BLAST! It was also the first time I hit the freeways of LA smack at 5pm, going from Bundy on the I-10 east to downtown LA. Um... yuck. I was sort of driving by Braille... My car is small, and I was constantly surrounded by Fed Ex trucks, SUVs and moving vans, which meant I could hardly ever see anything in front of me. Good thing I know the buildings cuz I couldn't see any freeways signs. Lovely.

So here's what I played!

Little Radio Playlist 6/1/2006
















Strawberry Letter # 23 - The Brothers Johnson
Supahero - Aceyalone
Born Into the World - Supersystem
Retreat (Phones remix) - The Rakes
Hex - Neko Case
Driver's Seat - Sniff 'n' the Tears
Everywhere That I'm Not - Translator
Lives of Crime - Fruit Bats
I Don't Care - Teenage Fanclub
Freedom Park - Marah
I Hear a Symphony - The Supremes
Now Dig This! - The CReeps
Mr. Kicks - Oscar Brown Jr.
The Mating Game - Bitter Sweet
Dialing A Prayer - Straightjacket Fits
Powder Burns - Twilight Singers
Hand Me Downs - Soul Position
Smiling Faces Sometimes - The Undisputed Truth
Stax (Strings) - Madlib
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing - Marvin Gaye & Tammy Terrell
I Could Be Cruel - The Slender Means
Martha My Dear - The Beatles
Wraith Pinned to the Mist & Other Games - Of Montreal
A Minha Meinina - Os Mutantes
It Ain't What You Do It's the Way That You Do It - Fun Boy Three w/ Bananarama
Don't Save Us From the Flames - M83
Selina's Melodie Fountain - Serena-Maneesh
Good Times - The Easybeats

Every Thursday from 6-8pm, PST. Swing by and give it a listen!

For the Price of A Cup of Tea

Over a week ago, Hollywood lost one of its characters... Jeffry was a bartender at the Burgundy Room, one of my DJ haunts. He suddenly fell very ill and died over a very short period. When one suddenly falls ill in this country and has no health insurance, that generally equates to really insane hospital bills for the family... and this case is no different. The Dragonfly will also be donating a portion of their bar take to Jeffry's family to help pay that cost, so head on down and have a drink! For Jeffry!

The Dragonfly, tonight, around 9ish, in Hollywood. Be there and be square.

(ps: I promise not to leave you all again for over a month, ok?)

Holding Out For A Hero

A wonderful update on my friend Dax!

Subtle's Rebuilding Year
Keyboardist Dax Pierson is partially paralyzed but fully determined to keep his avant-garde pop sextet both technologically and emotionally adept.
By Rob Harvilla

Def Leppard: Majestic English hair-metal titans offering robustly shrieked odes to woe and libido. Subtle: Panoramic Oaklandish avant-pop weirdos offering cryptically rapped odes to (just guessing here) woe and libido."

And never the twain should've met. But a pair of horrific car accidents has linked the two in terrible tragedy and (just hoping here) glorious, improbable, and technologically aided recovery and rebirth.

Rick Allen: Def Leppard drummer who lost an arm in a hideous New Year's Eve 1984 Corvette wreck, but, aided by a Tron-caliber space-age drum kit, has fully recovered and kept (robotically precise) time on five Def Lep albums since, including 1987's mighty Hysteria.

Dax Pierson: Subtle keyboardist paralyzed from the chest down in a February '05 tour van wreck, but, aided by a Matrix-caliber fleet of computer equipment, appears well on the (dauntingly long) road to recovery and will valiantly appear on every Subtle album to come, including this summer's quite possibly mighty for hero: for fool.

Rick, of course, has gradually lapsed into a mire of corny balladry and domestic violence; Dax is on a tougher but purer path. Journeying to Slim's in SF on a recent Friday night for Subtle's first show in a great while, it's a bummer that the crowd's dreams of a Triumphant Dax Sighting — would he descend from the ceiling in a pink wheelchair, or wheelie gleefully down the length of the bar? — go unfulfilled, but the band's reinvigorated intensity suggests its ailing comrade has much of the same.

"Dax is back," crows Subtle frontman Adam "Doseone" Drucker — the most prominent name/voice in the East Bay experimental hip-hop Anticon crew — from the back of the house as the night begins with a solo set from his bandmate, Jel. "Motherfuckin' machines," the rapper and drum programming maestro laments with a laugh as his gear momentarily craps out, while Doseone raves about the way those same machines have turned Dax into a high-tech force on wheels. Though limited to shoulder and biceps movement, he's making the most of it with a cadre of braces, computer mouses, and production software like GarageBand. He also has taken up beatboxing.

"He's really lucky," Doseone admits. "You frown on technology, but when you see Dax, you're like, 'Holy shit.'"

A full recovery is not guaranteed but not completely improbable — the Official Subtle Anecdote for 2006 recounts a recent night in the studio when, listening to playback of for hero: for fool material, Dax announced that, for the first time since the accident, he'd moved his finger. Just then. "He started to move his thumb," Doseone reiterates. "There's always hope, man."

In the interim, though, there's years of arduous therapy and, despite a continual outpouring of public support (especially flowing from Dax's day job at Berkeley's Amoeba Music), plenty of financial strife to contend with. "One million dollars will get spent," Dose says, between the tech and constantly necessary 'round-the-clock attendants. His triumphant recovery and rebirth has begun, but don't expect to see Dax onstage anytime soon.

His five Subtle bandmates, however, are back on tour and in unsubtle, tremendous form. First, after Jel's set, comes Fog, aka Minnesota weirdo Andrew Broder, best known for warped bedroom hip-hop laments. Andrew is frequently amazing and invariably bizarre — he dedicates a tune to Dax and then delicately croons the opening line: You know what they say/About doing laundry on your birthday. Profound.

Subtle itself is even more harsh, bizarre, and menacingly delicate, even without a partially paralyzed beatboxer in the mix. All five dudes — mostly manning live drums, a drum machine, cello, flute/sax, and Dose's vox and keyboard action, respectively — are clad in blood-red outfits, with Dose additionally wearing some sort of black-and-white-striped mink stole/bath towel he dramatically flings off within two minutes.

The sound itself is dense, apocalyptic, and occasionally quite beautiful, when a cello or flute line can rise above and sharply contrast with the snare- and keyboard-banging cacophony. Dose, meanwhile, unleashes a torrent of nasal, rapid-fire, well-nigh-inscrutable verbiage — he's the only guy who earnestly describes the progress on his next album by saying "I'm a thousand words into it." As the collective inches deeper into its first full decade of existence, Anticon remains notorious for this avant-garde, robo-Beefheart surrealist sound, but Subtle seems to be sheparding its evolution, still intimidating but slightly warmer. Most of Dose's flailing stage antics and loopy banter doesn't exactly project sincerity, but he pauses once to note "We've been through some heavy shit, and we've made some beautiful things with it. I want to dedicate every last scrap of what I have left to Dax Pierson."

for hero: for fool comes out later this year, and though you can expect plenty of Anticon/Subtle's gleeful abnormality, don't be surprised it's a bit more reflective and emotive as well. "No matter how aligned you are, you can always be realigned," Doseone explains. And no matter how broken you are, there's always the possibility that a combination of love, science, and willpower can fix you. —


illustration by Norman Dog


From eastbayexpress.com
Originally published by East Bay Express 2006-04-19
©2005 New Times, Inc. All rights reserved.

Dicky Ducks Out... Involuntarily

Indie 103 is a radio station in LA that makes it usually safe for me to listen to radio in LA. Dicky Barrett, the morning show host, recently left the station... supposedly because he was working full time on his other gig as announcer for the Jimmy Kimmell show or soemthing. I'm not a fan of morning yap-yap shows, nor was I a fan of Dicky's band - the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, but I really did enjoy Dicky and his pals and their intelligent, bawdy humor and rockin' good tunes.

So now the story is Dicky got fired for talking politics. Not just politics, but abortion. Here are some choice bits from his press release:

DICKY BARRETT FIRED

LA'S INDIE 103.1 PULLS HIM
AND HIS MIGHTY MORNING SHOW FROM THE AIRWAVES

The station was built to fuck with KROQ (Infinity) by people from KISS-FM (Clear Channel); it was just supposed to be a short lived pain in the ass that that took away a few ratings points, and talked some shit about KROQ. Inadvertently (and you can credit Steve Jones and the other celebrity DJ's) it became good, and got a lot of national attention, and credible press (''the coolest station in America'' rolling stone etc. ) At that point, the FCC said Clear Channel who operated Indie 103.1 out of the Entravision offices could no longer do so. All business ties on paper were severed. It became a full Entravision property... But the hard right leaning Clear Channel program director and station manager (along with a lot of the behind the scenes technical employees) were already firmly in place.

It is in Clear Channel's best interest that Indie 103.1 exists - the PD, Michael Steele (who brags about ''breaking Britney Spears'') and the station manager, Dawn Girocco (a long time radio sales woman) are believing their own hype and considering themselves radio geniuses who masterminded the Indie 103.1 phenomenon, so it's now time to implicate their superior ''radio wisdom'' and conventional ''radio strategy'': #1) Morning shows need to be musically formatted and the music needs to be heavily rotated - #2) All guests must be approved by Michael Steele (Dawn Girocco really, she's Dick Cheney, Steele's George Bush) ''no guests controversial to soccer moms listening in the a.m.'' There were other things that were more annoying, then actually detrimental to the show... ''say the time, and call letters till your blue in the face''

I reluctantly, and unhappily against my better judgment, went along with all this for about two weeks, hoping they would come to their senses. During this time, they brought in a longtime radio guru, to consult (he also worked at one point for Clear Channel). His assessment was the show was ''really good'' and I was a ''legitimate talent and a potential radio star." Not the information these people wanted me to have. When I made an on a r remark about not liking the new overplayed Morrissey track, I was marched into the President of Entravisions' office (Jeff Lieberman, a fan of Mighty Morning show. In front of me, Jeff told Dawn he was not prepared to ''strip Dicky of his opinion,'' she was obviously and visibly embarrassed. Then he asked her if she gave me the book about morning radio that he gave her to give to me... ''no, it's at home'' she said. ''Why the hell, is it there?'' he asked, she looked humiliated.

This was the beginning of the end for me, and the writing was most likely on the wall. Two weeks after that I had a substantial, unauthorized, pro-choice conversation on the air with a South Dakota disc jockey and a few callers, the straw that broke the camels back. This is not the direction supporters of the current administration want the station going in.

I was fired that day.

I loved doing the show and loved the people who loved it.

Thank you,
Dicky


Check this out for more dirt. Tragic.

Donovan Dissed

My roommate works at the Roxy, an old famous club on the Sunset Strip. I never go to the Sunset Strip. All the clubs cost to much to get into, almost always have shitty bands, require some sort of drink minimum, and you generally have to pay a whole lot to even park in the vicinity. So I never go. Besides, the people who hang out there are weird.

Anyway, my roommate works at the Roxy. Currently the club is hosting a run of the musical, "Hedwig & the Angry Inch" starring Donovan Leitch. A couple nights ago, the club hosted a "celebrity" night so that semi-famous people could see the play without being bothered by non semi-famous people. In other words, it was a private party for Donovan and his pals. My roommate opted not to work that night, but had this gossip to report:

"I guess I didn't miss a whole lot at Hedwig last night. Jackie said that Paris Hilton was there, was on her sidekick half the night and then left. And a lot of B list celebs were there and talking really loudly at the bar..to the point that Donovan said "I must be missing a good party back there" ... how rude. I swear it's those b and c list ones that are the worst. I would have liked to seen Scott Weiland and Mark McGrath who were there.. and Juliette Lewis and the boyfriend from Mean Girls was there too.. oh and Nicky Hilton and her man..but I don't care about them. But overall, no one terribly exciting."

I Got the Music In Me

So last week I went to SXSW. I saw lots and lots and lots of bands. I wish I could have seen more! I've been wanting to leave some notes on the shows I saw here, but alas... I'm a very, very busy girl these days. But never fear! My memories are still here...

Bluebottle Kiss - a band out of Australia who were scheduled to play with the Twilight Singers on Saturday the 11th at a little club in Glendale called the Scene, but didn't make it because of mechanical issues with their plane. They were really bummed, because they LOVE Greg Dulli. In Oz, they have 5 albums out and an 11 year career which has earned them much praise and recognition, but no one knows shit about them here. Well, they're good, especially if you like that dark, twangy somewhat threatening style of Aussie rock. Which I do. And the singer is cute. Bonus! (Nick Cave & Triffids fans, check 'em out.)

The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster - Sorta like Ministry "Burning Inside" era. I'm sort of done with that, but a bunch of black haired girls with lip rings were not.

The Rakes - BY FAR, the funnest show I saw. I Heart Nerds. These guys were BIG nerds. Skinny as a rail (or rather, rakes) all of 'em, in preppy clothes with that oh-so-British humor, they put on a great show with lots of energy and personality. The music sounded great and they were tight tight tight.


Echo & the Bunnymen - Ian McCullogh sounds great even when he's rambling nonsense, doesn't he? "Killing Moon" performed in a heavy drizzle was wonderful cinematically. My hair did suffer, though.

The Go! Team - She is one little bouncy girl. Not all the songs translate so well, but "Ladyflash" was wonderful. Got to check them out at the wonderful Waterloo Records, which was a mini dance party USA that afternoon.

Metric - She thinks she's all that, but she's not.

Elefant - That lead singer is disturbingly hot. Turns out he's also suave. When I told him he looked alot like my little brother, he immediately threw his arms out and said, "Sister!" and kissed both my cheeks, Euro-style. It was almost creepy. Ole Diego had broken his foot earlier in the week falling off a stage in Philly, but still put on a great show. Very brooding and engaging.

DeVotchka - This show was absolutely magical... They played outside on a patio, a guitar, drums (sometimes), horns, and a tuba coverd in red lights. The stage was built around a tree, which could probably cause some interference for most bands but lent itself to the mystique of this one, which sounds like a spaghetti western in Russia with a Thom Yorke-ish vocalist singing in falsetto half the time. It was like gypsy indie music, and brought to life under the stars in the desert of Texas was absolutely the way to see it.


Translator - Yea, that band from the 80's that sang "Everywhere That I'm Not." THEY ROCKED! Seriously. They really rocked. I know the lead singer, and he was kind enough to dedicate "Necessary Spinning" to me before I had to bolt to the next show...

Twilight Singers - I ran over from one show to get in line for this one, and wouldn't you know it, THIS WAS THE ONLY LINE I WAITED IN ALL WEEKEND. As I'm lucky enough to consider Mr. Dulli to be a dear friend, it was pretty ironic that many of the songs I've had the fortunate opportunity to listen to while sitting on his couch I now had to enjoy blasting out of the windows of a bar. The stage was set up against the street, with windows open wide so many fans watched the band from behind, occasionally giving drummer Bobby MacIntyre a hand when his cymbals would tip off the stage. I got in for the last 20 minutes of the set, and what a great 20 minutes it was!

Magnet - It's just one guy. With a lap steel guitar with a whole lot of effects pedals. And it was dreamy and beautiful and absolutely mesmerizing...

Earlimart - More dreamy pop, tons of the new stuff, catchy and rockin' and fun.

The Elected - Really surprised me, as I'm not so into this band. They rocked it hard though, and put on a great show, which won me over. And Blake played this neat guitar that kinda looked like an ice cream cone.

Twilight Singers (yea, again) - The Fader Party at the Levi's Trading Post, to which I almost didn't get in because of a list snafu, but I got in. This time, I got to be upfront and center as the Twilight Singers let loose about a half hour of sultry rock and thoroughly wowed the crowd. Those boys know how to work it, that's for damn sure! (Afterwards, we all wandered off to watch some basketball at Louie's - March Madness, yo!)



Mary Lou Lord - She traditionally busks at 6th and Congress every year, something she used to do with Elliott Smith and continues to do on her own. There was some concern as to her voice (she suffers from a degenerative vocal chord condition) but it sounded great and she seemed to have a handle on it; not once did she involuntarily go mute. She was sweet the whole time.

Rogue Wave - Beautiful, dreamy pop. How do they translate it live so well?

The Subways - I didn't want to like them, but I did. They had a lot of charm and presence, and put on a great live act. It's easy to get into a band when they are so excited about what they are doing, as these kids certainly were.

Snow Patrol - an acoustic show, which just made their songs that much more dreamy.

The Morning 40 Federation - a buncha sleazy drunks doing jazzy burlesque from N'Awlins; it just made me want to hang out in a strip bar and do shots. Rock on!

The Stills - The cute one didn't sing enough.

Towers of London - I could not figure out if these guys were kidding or not (but I think they were). The sloppy snotty bubblegum punk of Generation X mixed with the bravado and strut of early Motley Crue, lots of crowd taunting and a hot hot HOT guitar player (if you were into Nikki Sixx before he died that one time)... Well, I found myself banging my head (sorta, if occasionally to avoid the water being spit offstage by the singer) and enjoying myself immensely.

Lady Sovereign - She was sassy as hell. Some of her new stuff was great, some of it was a bit hokey... so we'll see what she & Jay-Z come up with.

The Bats - The Bats! The motherfuckin' Bats! I saw them back in '93 (and I guess that was the last time they were in the States) and they sounded just as great this time. Surging yet wistful pop, the Bats remain one of the most distinctive of the late 80's / early 90's indie pop and a standout in that era's Flying Nun New Zealand invasion. They did "Block of Wood!" They did "Boogey Man!" They ended with "North By North!" I didn't think anything could make me bounce up and down on my weary feet at 2am on the last night of SXSW in the rain, but the Bats did.

I guess the only other thing potentially of note was that we saw Wayne of the Flaming Lips rolling down 6th Street in his big plastic bubble, which got people all excited. But come on, that was SO 2004...

Lonestar

I just got back from South By Southwest. I'm really, really tired. And it was humid, which is bad for the hair - you know what I'm sayin? But it was a great time, and here are the bands I saw (mostly all of the set, even!):

Bluebottle Kiss
The Rinse
The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
The Rakes
Echo & the Bunnymen
Eleni Mandell
Scott Kempner
Susan Marshall
Tim Easton
The Go! Team
Metric
Elefant
DeVotchka
Translator
Twilight Singers
Dengue Fever
Illinois
Silversun Pickups
The Grates
Magnet
Earlimart
The Elected
The Duke Spirit
Twilight Singers (yea, again)
Mary Lou Lord
Mad-lib
Rogue Wave
Carina Round
Vega 4
Amusement Parks on Fire
The Subways
Nine Black Alps
Snow Patrol
The Morning 40 Federation
The Stills
Towers of London
Lady Sovereign
The Bats

I think that's everything. Details later.

Bitch Bitch Moan Moan

A list of new rules for 2006. By George Carlin. Cracks me up every time... Enjoy!

****************************************************

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a reason
you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you don't particularly
like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is
doing these days: mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out a window unless you're
a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a
bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect
it to contain? Trout?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde
teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these
kids: lucky bastards.

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're
a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols. If you're a
grown man , they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about
your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of
this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry,
but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour
some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop f***ing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned
pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the
bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be
in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the SocialSecurity
crisis.

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the asshole.
If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf grande half-soy, half-low
fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light
ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet," ... ooh, you're a huge asshole.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my card,
entering my PIN number, pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding, no,
I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the kid who is supposed
to be ringing me up is standing there eating myAlmond Joy.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make
you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to
"beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were
praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly
sins. ESPN recently televised the US Open of Competitive Eating, because
watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting.
What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait. They're already doing that. It's
called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll
go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy, old
television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so
we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason
something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't
good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for
weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab.
Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn't
gift giving, it's the white people version of looting.

Lazy Line Painter Jane

Okay, shaggy haired bisexuals, one of your heroes will be hanging out amongst you next Monday night.

Isobel Campbell, formerly the "Belle" of Belle & Sebastian and the dainty voice behind the shimmery Gentle Waves, is having her record release party at the now infamous Cha Cha Lounge in Silverlake.

Her new album, Ballad of the Broken Seas, is a collaborative effort between her and Mark Lanegan, he of the whisky graveled voice (frontman to the Screaming Trees, guest frontman for Queens of the Stone Age, accomplished solo artist, and a heavily tattoed guy I once freaked out accidentally in an airport in New Jersey). Inspired by Nancy & Lee, Isobel approached Mark through his label before finally meeting him in her hometown of Glasgow at a QOTSA show, and he threw out the idea of working together. Isobel had a new excuse for writing some songs from a man's point of view, because she had found a new voice for them. (Anyone familiar with Belle & Sebastian's gender skewed pop tunes shouldn't be too surprised by this anyway.)

The two released a teaser EP a couple of months ago, featuring their wicked version of the Hank William's classic, "Ramblin' Man" as well as a few originals, all sort of reflecting a coutry psychedelia with a wistful edge... Isobel (and I'm guessing Mark will have to show up) is also playing the Troubador on Tuesday night. But to get all up close and personal, and hear the whole CD, hit the Cha Cha on Monday. She'll be there. She tried to set it up at the Burgundy Room first, and called herself to do so... but the owner let her know his place was just gonna be too small for the crowd she'd probably bring in. Why not hit Silverlake?

Monday March 6th, 8pm (that's the rumored start time - call the bar the day of to be certain)
The Cha Cha Lounge
2375 Glendale Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90039
(323) 660-7595

Everybody Get Dirrrty

Wow - some of you actually want to know what happened next. Well...

A couple days after the wild night of go-go dancing, I got a phone call from Cowboy Todd. The message went something like this: "Hey sexy lady, sexy Mo... It's Todd, the cowboy you met at Rimjob the other night. I was just on my way to the gym to work on my thighs, calves and ass and I thought I'd give you a call and tell you how sexy you are, sexy lady! Hope you're having a great day, and give me a call back."

Really. That's what he said. I played the message for my roommate and she would say "Hey, sexy lady!" everytime I walked down the hallway for the rest of the weekend.

The next day he called again. "Hey, sexy Mo! It's Todd calling. I was just off to crack out my abs so I thought I'd call and say hi. I'm working at a place called Fubar's tonight, so try to come by if you can."

Yes, he said the phrase, "Crack out my abs."

I told a friend of mine about this. "Fubar's?" she said. "That's a total scenester gay place. I feel invisible when I go there." So I called Cowboy Todd back. "Hey, what's up?" "Oh, hi! What's goin' on?" Me: "You're working at Fubar's tonight? I'll try to grab some friends and cruise out. It's cool if girls come, right?" "Oh, totally. It's my last night for a while - I wrecked my car and I'm going to New York for a couple days and then to Florida to visit my family for my birthday because I didn't see them at Christmas." Me: " When's your birthday?" Todd: "February11th." Me: "Hey, that's the same as my baby brother!" Todd: "Wow, I've never known anyone born on my birthday!" Me: "Well, you still don't, you don't know my brother. But you can say you do if you want. Hey, I'm at work - I'll try to swing by tonight." "Cool - I'll get you all a free drink!" My friend & I tried to wrangle up a boy posse, but everyone had plans.

I haven't spoken to him since, but that doesn't mean I haven't heard from ole Cowboy Todd.

That Sunday, before he left town, he gave me a call detailing his visit to his doctor's office to collect his medicine for his hyperactivity, and to let me know he was bartending (shirtless!) at Skin Sundays, a gay day at Highland Grounds - a bar/cafe I thought was a singer/songwriter type place. Turns out it usually is, except for Skin Sundays.

The night of the Grammys as I drove to the BFF's house, I was treated to something special. A picture. On my cell phone. Of Cowboy Todd, shirtless, flexing with his arms behind his head, in front of a fridge covered in colorful alphabet magnets. This almost made me crash my car (DON'T CHECK YOUR TEXTS WHILE DRIVING - DUH!). I showed it to BFF, who started laughing immediately, but said, "Come on, he's hot! I can't believe you don't want to hook up with him." "What? Ick! He's all flexy and stuff!" "Well," BFF retorted, "I think you've been staring at (insert name of slightly overweight-chainsmoking-brilliant musician that I've been involved with for months here) flabby ass for too long and could use a little something different." "Oh," I said in my defense, "You know that if this guy had been calling me up and telling me jokes instead of his gym schedule that I'd be all over it. Really." "Okay, okay..." BFF gave up.

"So what do I do? Should I write back?" "Didn't he say he was in Florida with his parents?" "Yea." "Well, write back: Wow, your mom is a great photographer!" So that's what I did. My BFF is so clever, isn't he?

A few hours later (midnightish my time, so 3amish in Florida), I get a text back. "Can you send me a picture? It gets lonely in Florida..." Then another: "A dirty picture." (Of course.) Then another: "I'll send you one of me." So I turned off my phone. The next morning once I turned it back on, he had texted: "Give me a call or text when you have a chance." So I responded: "Hey, I don't just send out pictures to people I don't know. Have a good vacation." And he texted back: "Sorry, seemed like a good idea at the time."

Was this the end of it? NO!

Although nothing has been as entertaining as the initial messages, I have received a picture of him in bed gazing longingly at the camera, looking cutesy holding a bunch of flowers in front of his face (Valentine's Day), and one of him just looking into the camera on the place. Occasional messages about where he's working, will I meet him & his friends for dinner, bring lots of gay friends, etc... If I ever do meet up with this guy, it's purely because I want to ask him:

1. Are you gay?
2. Okay then, you must be bi...
3. Do you keep pictures of yourself on your phone to just send out to all the phone numbers you've collected at your various gigs?
4. Who takes these pictures of you?
5. What do you want to be: model or actor?
6. Why do you go-go dance at all these gay places if you aren't totally gay?
7. Are you a total gigolo or what?
8. How many drugs do you take?


I think that's the bulk of it. A friend of mine once wisely said never date a guy who waxes more places than you do. I tend to go for the ones that make me laugh - and if they happen to have six pack abs, then that's just lucky.

Beauty & the Beat

A couple Tuesdays ago, I met a guy at a place called Rimjob.

Yuck! Ew! What?

Come on, it was a gay bar. The gay bars always are allowed to have the best names, you know. And the best names for drinks, too.

I met 4 of my best gay friends there. They had told me about the place, "It's dirty, DIRRRRTY!" Loads of go-go dancers, all greased up and undressed, a functioning shower stall for a little exhibition, the occasional dirty mattress for dancers to romp on. Porn being played on the TVs with "Boys Gone Wild" videos on the pull down screens. The crowd was great: very friendly, regular guys - not overly pumped up and beautiful like in West Hollywood where they all look like Abercrombie & Bitch models. Just normal cute and not so cute, buff and not so buff, nice folks.

Early on, it was announced that I was going to provide some of the evening's entertainment. "One of the dancers is straight," announced K. "And he's hot. And when a girl gives him a dollar, he makes out with her." K then handed me a dollar. "He's gonna love making out with you!"

"Oh God!" I said. "I'm not going to make out with a stripper!"

"Oh, but he's hot!" replied K. "You must. You will."

The dancers slowly started gathering around the club. The hot, straight one emerged shirtless, in camouflage pants which were sort of draped around his ass. It was my first experience with gay male dancers (that I can remember, anyway) and there was a lot of that sort of ass hanging out business, which makes sense. Guys in their underwear, pushing it halfway down their ass.

Anyway, my friend S gives my arm a tug and goes, "Oh, check out that guy. He's definitely the hottest one in the place!" He was pointing out a guy in a cowboy hat, boots, and black underwear. The guy was pretty cute, and he was chewing gum like there was no tomorrow, so we figured he was probably pretty coked out too. But S was just fascinated, "He is soooo hot. Maybe he's straight? Maybe we could get a threesome going?" "Ugh! I couldn't! Jeez!" I gagged. "He knows we're checking him out, he keeps looking at us," S said. I wasn't noticing this, but I was kinda overloading on the whole scene.

But K still had his eyes on the original prize. "Here's another dollar, Mo, go talk to the straight one. Go!" Instead, we got another drink. On the way over, we passed the running shower, up on a table, where two guys were almost having sex. Then we went outside to get away from the crowd which had swelled up inside the place.

My BFF and I were sitting on a couple of stools and our friends were circled in front of us, and we were all chatting. We realized we had a pretty primo spot, as behind us was the entryway to the dancers' dressing area, so they were constantly passing behind us. We could get as great a look as we wanted. S and I were talking, when he spotted Brokeback: "He's right over there and he's looking at us."

Turned out, he was looking at me.

The Cowboy went right through the crowd, cut through my friends, and right up to me. "Hi, I'm Todd. What's your name?" "Mo. Todd, huh? I had a stalker named Todd once. You're not a stalker, are you Todd?" "Not unless you're into that." "Well, I wasn't. So, are you making any money tonight?" (I don't know... what do you talk to strippers about?) "Oh yea," he gushed. "It's a blast. I'm having a great time. I noticed you in the crowd and wanted to talk to you because you're so sexy." "Oh?" I responded. "Are you straight then?" "Oh, well," he stammered. "Ok, but you have to get back to work." We rambled aimlessly a few more moments, and then he went back into the dressing room.

In the meantime, BFF had attracted a go-go dancer of his own. Once that guy left, K said, "Hello, stripper magnets! What's up?" S turned to me and said, "You HAVE to hook up with that guy! For me! For our sakes!" Then the Cowboy re-emerged in his (lack of) costume and goosed me from behind. I turned around and poked his chest. It was oiled up. "Ew!" I yelped. "You're all greasy! Don't get that on my jacket!" "Oh, I wasn't going to lean into you... Are you going to stick around for a while? Watch me dance?" "Yes, we'll be here."

The next round of conversation went a little like this. Cowboy Todd: "So, are you single? Are you dating someone?" Me: "No, I'm waaay single. And waaaaay older than you, too." Todd: "That's hot. I like older women. How old are you?" Me: "How old are you?" Todd: "Almost 31." Me: "Yea, I'm way older than you." (I was also taking into account that he was totally lying, and most likely 23 or 24.)

He went back to his post to earn more crotch cash, and my friends and I debated what I was supposed to do next. S said, "Well, if you don't give him your number, I will!" BFF said, "You have to go out with him. You dating a bimbo is like me dating a smart guy!" true, that. But I was confused, if he was working in a gay bar, and totally workin' it too, then why was he hitting on the fag hag? "Well," BFF replied, "If he seems like he's straight, that makes him more of a challenge. It's kinda hot." Oohhh...

So what did I do? I gave him my cell number. And that is a story for another day...

Colin Callin'...

Okay, so I saw the Colin Farrell sex tape.

Well, not all of it, just a condensed version. And I took away two things from it: all those rumors about Colin's package may have some merit after all (but he's a little guy, so it may also be all about the angling), and EVERYBODY looks hilarious when they are having sex.

And from what I saw, he was very, very chatty. There were moments where his Irish brogue made it a bit tough to decipher, but moments where it was crystal clear.

"Holy fuck, man. Breakfast, lunch, and fucking dinner, right here. I'm not even fucking joking." One guess as to what he was...ummm...eating. But he has to interrupt to throw that one out there? Hot. If somebody was working on me and started yammering like that, I'd have to tell him to shut up, cuz it ain't gonna lick itself, you know?

"Holy shit, I didn't know they made bastards as sexy as you, man." No, this was not a quote from his memorable performance as Alexander the Great in a heated exchange with boy toy Jared Leto. In case you forgot, Colin was hooked up with Nicole Narain, a Playboy playmate. Gender slang means nothing to Mr. Farrell - hell, I call girls "Dude" all the time!

"You're just like...it's like you're going fishing for fucking pubes, man. You're just catching every fucking pube I have." Okay, everybody turned on yet?

"Whatever princess wants, princess fucking gets, let me tell you." Aw, it's not like ole Colin doesn't care.

(Special thanks to Shrimpjaw for making the painstaking effort to transcribe the whole damn thing...)

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Yesterday's News

Saturday night, I got to check out the Gossip.

The Gossip is kinda like really funky blues disco punk. Does that make sense? And the kids are way spunky. Beth, the lead singer, has one of those big Janis Joplin voices that can wail and be incredibly sexy at the same time. The basslines are new romantic, the drums are fierce. Usually, that's it. Voice, bass, drums. And rip roaring attitude that's groovy even while she's screaming. You know.

The Gossip has a huge gay following. As one of my friends put it on Saturday, "Man, you can't swing a cat without hitting a lesbian in this place." This place was the Echo in Echo Park... Rather, the subterranean hellhole of the Echo, the X-Plex or something. The place has been used before - my only experience with it was usually a dance club type thing - but tonight it was the space where the Gossip was playing. It reminded me of the early kind of rave spaces I used to go to: makeshift bathrooms that were backed up, exposed insulation, temporary plywood walls... Classy. Even if the Gossip aren't such a highbrow band, they deserved better than that.

And the best part about the whole thing was that there was no bar... You had to walk out the back, up a small alley, and into the tiny smoking patio of the Echo which had been converted into the makeshift bar for the evening. And you had to stay there while drinking. It was very, very crowded. And it sucked.

Hopefully those folks will have a bit more construction (and working bathrooms) the next time they try to have a show there. Because, despite the stench, the Gossip rocked it out hard and the kids (even the straight ones) grooved along.

Eye In the Sky

Big Brother?

* Action Alert: Hollywood Plants Its Flags in Our Homes

On Tuesday, January 24th, the Senate Commerce Committee will
hold hearings on government regulation of digital media in
the form of the broadcast flag and the audio flag. But even
before the committee hears the arguments, Hollywood lobbyists
have already planned the results. Drafts are being passed
around Congress by Senator Gordon Smith (D-OR) of a "Digital
Content Protection Act" that would make both flags laws at a
stroke.

If this bill were to pass, government - and the entertainment
industry - would control what you could do with digital media
in your home. The broadcast flag would place TV shows in a
DRM ghetto, where your right to copy, back-up, sell, time-
shift or convert them into formats convenient to you would be
at the whim of the broadcasters. The audio flag would give
the FCC matching powers over "digital audio broadcasting,"
including satellite radio, digital HD radio, and potentially
even Internet radio. Fair use would be frozen into "customary
historical use."

There's no benefit here for artists or customers, and for
infringing copiers, evading these copy controls will be as
easy as ever. No matter how inconvenienced individual users
would be, pirates would be able to bypass it. The bill would
usher in a new world of anti-consumer electronics and a
chance for the MPAA's and RIAA's member companies to seize
even greater control over all media distribution and use.

If you live in one of the states below, your senator is on
the Senate Commerce Committee. Let him or her know that these
flags would mark a new era of Hollywood's control of the home
and of our digital networks.

You have a senator on the committee if you are a resident of
Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Florida, Hawaii,
Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Montana,
Nebraska, Nevada, New, Hampshire, New, Jersey, North, Dakota,
Oregon, South, Carolina, Texas, Virginia, Washington, or West
Virginia.

Write to the Committee:
<http://action.eff.org/site/Advocacy?id=205>

If you're not in one of those states, it's still important
for you to write to your senator and representative to
support DMCA reform and take some of the bite out of these
preposterous mandates.

Support DMCA reform:
<http://action.eff.org/site/Advocacy?id=115>

More Information:

The Draft Digital Content Protection Act:
<http://eff.org/broadcastflag/dcp_act_2006.pdf>

Our Analysis of the Bill
<http://www.eff.org/deeplinks/archives/004340.php>


: . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . 

Goodbye, Sugar

In August of 1990, my two roommates and I decided to get a cat. I was dispatched to the task, as I was the only one with any previous cat experience. I'm also one of the softest softies ever, so when I went to the pound to pick a kitten, I immediately started sobbing since I couldn't take them all home with me, and I picked the ugliest, scrawniest one in the bunch. I figured no one else would, and I'd definitely be saving his little life. (I had no idea this was a no-kill shelter.)

We agreed to the name Tristan, although I really wanted to name him Bagheera after the panther in the Jungle Book. He wound up becoming completely my cat, though, and would go for rides around town with me in my car, chase squirrels in the yard, sleep next to my head, and play around with all the neighbors. When he got a bit older, he moved in with my parents, who had a big house with a huge yard and other cats as opposed to my dinky apartments with allergy prone roommates.

Tristan turned out to be a panther, after all. A gorgeous hunk of cat, and quite the hunter too. He was super loveable and liked to play with everyone. He especially liked to take people's seats once they had been warmed up for him. You just don't argue with a 20 pound cat. Even if he does love the Cocteau Twins.

Whenever I would come home, he would be sitting at the door waiting for me. If I called the house, he would come distract whoever was talking to me. He always knew. I would walk in and lie on the ground and talk to him, and he would lie down next to me and sing. Well, purr really, really loud, and kind of chirp. We had little conversations.

Last night when I got the call, "He's not doing good, maybe you should come home..." I hopped into my car to do the 101 mile dash. I didn't make it in time though, he was gone. I'd just missed him. So here's to my big, handsome man, Tristan.

(Bagheera.)

when darkness falls
on Summer's end
so in your absence
i shall begin
when Darkness falls the race iz done
and Love lives not
when Hope is gone
goodbye, sugar...
(Twilight Singers)

The Land of Oz

Los Angeles just finished its annual G'Day LA event... Which probably a lot of people never even heard about. This year, it was a bit more high profile as there were ads running on the Independent Film Channel featuring the likes of Nicole Kidman and Geoffrey Rush saying, "G'Day LA!"

Basically, it's a week long series of wine, art, food, and political events which are supposed to strengthen the ties between Los Angeles commerce and Australian commerce.

I think G'Day LA would be benefited by bringing some of their rock and roll to these shores for some live music, myself! And one band I'd love to see live again would be You Am I.

(For anyone keeping track, I've just hit the letter "Y" on my alphabetical musical countdown.)

You Am I has never made it in this country, but they are huge in Oz. They headline festivals and sell out big venues with regularity. Here, they've opened for Soundgarden, Oasis, and - the last time they were briefly in the States - the Kills and the Strokes. They are Big Rock. And Pop. And a little bit country.

You Am I started out as just another grunge band in the early 90's, releasing their first CD in '93. You could hear the pop through the sludge though, and singer Tim Rogers' lyrics were always smart and touching. By their third release, Hourly Daily (my favorite by far) the grunge was nearly gone and the quirky pop which owed more to early Who and XTC had taken it's place. And now, they've definitely moved into Whiskeytown territory, sounding like with their time on the road they finally dived into the cache of country music belonging to their parents. It all sounds great.

If you track down some You Am I stuff, I'd highly recommend both Hourly Daily and Tim Rogers' first solo album, What Rhymes with Cars and Girls. The second album Hi-Fi Way is also pretty genius and I rally liked the last one, Deliverance, which is all country-rocked out. But I'm getting old.


I was lucky enough to see You Am I once, in a small club in San Fransisco, back in 1998. I had been in a minor and stupid car accident the night before, and was stiff as a board. But the band was so rowdy and the set so great, I just clamped my hand around my neck and jumped around. It was sort of all I could do. Then, towards the end of the night, Tim Rogers picked me out of the crowd and led me in a waltz. Damned if I can remember what song it was to, I was mostly just concerned about not being so stiff while we were dancing. I learned later that he does this at small shows, and the girls fight for this place of honor, and I felt pretty lucky indeed.

I don't think he could tell that I had a minor concussion.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Sometimes you get up kinda crabby and something completely wacky happens to snap you right out of it. Something that will most likely never, EVER happen to you again.

This happened to me today, and it's one of those "only in LA" things, which I am forever grateful for.

It is well documented that I am totally nuts about Duran Duran, John Taylor in particular. Mmm mmm good. But I'll take a sighting of any of those guys to bring my day up a notch, or a zillion notches. I've even had the lucky opportunity to meet John Taylor once in person, and to interview him (by phone, sadly) on another occasion. That makes me happy.

Today I went to the Arclight Theatres to see "Syrianna." The Arclight is basically the Cinerama Dome complex, which is a fancy movie experience because the seats are cozy and spacious, they have a bar, they serve popcorn and polish sausage and Haagen Daas, they tell you about the movie before it starts, and they stop seating people once it does. You get the idea. It's also waaaaaay pricey.

I wanted to go to the matinee, but got held up so I made it to the 4:45 showing instead. As I was buying my ticket, I heard a man with a British accent ordering his tickets from the fellow next to me. I glanced over out of curiosity, and it was Simon Le Bon. SIMON FUCKING LE BON! And he looked great. At this point, I tried to figure out if I could be seated near where they were seated, but realized that would be a bit obvious and since they weren't selling tons of tickets to a movie starting in 5 minutes, I decided my chances were good.

I went upstairs for my snacks, and Simon came along with a woman (who wasn't his wife, but looked vaguely familiar). I went into the theatre just before they came in, and wound up a couple of rows behind them. The movie started and I decided to pay attention to that, as I did pay the money after all, and it wasn't as if Simon was my favorite member of Duran Duran.

Early into the film, a third member joined their party, but I couldn't get a good look at him as they were all slouching comfortably and enjoying themselves. When the movie ended and the credits started to roll, I watched the group to see when they were getting up to leave so that I could saunter out alongside them. Simon stood up, so I made my way around them to the aisle and as I passed by (because they hadn't budged), I saw that the third member of their party was John Taylor.

JOHN FUCKING TAYLOR!

I still cannot believe that John Taylor was sitting two rows in front of me for nearly 3 hours and I didn't notice. You'd think my ovaries would have rumbled or something. It was then that I realized that the woman there was John's wife, Gela Nash Taylor, co-creator of Juicy Couture. They were watching the credits roll and he said, "Oh, it was Chris Cooper! I like him but I always forget his name..." "Oh, he's good," Simon responded. "He won the Academy Award for that one movie, the one where he didn't have his front teeth..." "Adaptation," interjected John. And then I had to walk out of the theatre before being outed as a borderline stalker.

I was so excited that I immediately got a really amazing headache.I mean, how cute is it that Simon and John, after having been in a band for over 25 years, hang out and go to the movies together? I immediately walked next door to my alma mater, Amoeba Music, so I could tell one of my best friends and my ex-boyfriend (who had both been witness to my original John Taylor sighting and subsequent meltdown) about this one and they could see how well I handled it this time.

I'm still only shaking a little bit.

Oh, and I really liked "Syrianna."

Red Shoe Diaries

My downstairs neighbor has a girlfriend who hates me.

I didn't do anything, really. I just wear heels. Everyday. On hardwood floors.

Oh, come on... now you hate me too? You haven't even let me explain.

I am a notorious heel wearer. I "hike" in 2" boots. I take my daily walk at lunch in 3" stilettos in the summer. I go to the beach in 4" wedgies. Once I teased a boyfriend of mine who lives in Pasadena where the summer temperatures are scorching... "Don't you ever wear shorts?" He pointed at my feet and said, "Don't you ever wear flats?" Nailed.

I have also lived beneath someone else quite a few times. I've had those neighbors that always sound like they are moving furniture around at 4am, and the neighbor doing aerobics at 6am, and the neighbor with the blaring TV at any given hour. I am not that neighbor.

I am hyper conscious about the person who sleeps below me. I don't do much in my room except sleep, read, do my bills, and get dressed.

Here lies the problem.

At home, on my lovely hardwood floors, I generally wear slippers. I wear them in the morning, and I put them back on right when I get home. It's that 30 seconds before I walk out the door that causes the problem, you see.

One day when I had just gotten home from work, there was a pounding at the door. I knew it was a neighbor because we have a gated building, and there are only 4 units. I opened it to see a woman I had seen around, but wasn't sure where she belonged. She introduced herself and then said, "I try to sleep in the room under yours, but your heels always wake me up in the morning. I've tried earplugs and I'm an insomniac and once you wake me up, I can't go back to sleep." I said, "Well, I only put them on when I'm about to leave the house." "Can you just put them on outside? I can hear you walking down the hall and down the stairs, and it's really disruptive."

"Uh, no, I will not get dressed outside. I'll do my best to put them on in the living room, but that's the most I can promise you."

"Well, if we were bothering you and you told us, we would accomodate you."

"I think asking me to get dressed outside is a bit much. Besides, you don't even live here. All I can tell you is that I'm a zombie in the morning, and I will do my best to put my shoes on in the living room before I leave. Perhaps you should keep your earplugs in if any of the neighbors or myself decide to use our stairs to leave the building."

"Fine," she huffed, and went back inside.

This was about a month ago. I haven't seen her for a couple weeks, leading me to hope that my neighbor dumped her and I won't have to worry about her hypersensitve ears anymore. Who knows... I may have to start blowdrying my hair in the car or something. Geez.

Just Like A Natural Man

Consider for a moment...

Mr. Lou Rawls.

He passed away Friday the 6th, from cancer. He was either 70 or 72, folks weren't sure.

Lou was an amazing singer, good friend to Sam Cooke (he was one of Cooke's pallbearers) and nemesis to Bobby Womack (supposedly because Bobby married Sam's girl... or slept with her, or something Lou didn't take to kindly to). He had a four octave vocal range and he used to to wow the crowds, be it jazzy, funky or just plain talky. Lou was a big talker, fond of introducing his songs with a setup, dramatically, to draw the listener in. People dug it.

While talking about Lou to a friend the other day, I realized that the second concert I ever saw was Mr. Lou Rawls. (The first was Donny and Marie.) I think it was around 1980. He was playing at the Del Mar Fair. In the summertimes, my dad worked at the Del Mar Fair (we liked to say he was a carny, but he was really just friends with all the carnies and sold beer and burgers) and he'd get us in for free all the time, which was pretty awesome. This particular evening, though, my mom was performing onstage with Lou Rawls. She was a dancer, but at this particular time, she was a Jazzercise instructor and for some reason, Lou was having a couple Jazzercise instructors onstage with him doing a routine to one of his songs. So I had to go, because my mom was in it, and I was taking pictures.

I don't remember anything about the show. We have one picture at the house though, of my mom standing next to Lou Rawls. She's Latina, so she has this post-sweaty short frizzy brown hair with a flower in it, and is wearing some sort of muumuu with an Indian (like the country) pattern over her leotard & tights, and a HUGE smile on her face. Lou, on the other hand, is so black that my mom's beige skin looks bleached, and he's wearing a completely white suit and smiling the smoothest smile you ever saw. I do remember thinking he was awfully nice.

I'd scan the picture for you if it wasn't hanging in a frame somewhere in San Diego, but trust me, it's priceless. Much like the man.

Is There Something to Do?

LA Kids:

This week is chock full of weird and interesting things to do. I think I'm gonna try to do all of them.

Tuesday? Daniel Lanois is playing at Spaceland (capacity 150, technically). You know, that guy who produces folks like U2, Peter Gabriel, Dylan... and has collaborated with Eno, Emmylou Harris, Joe Henry... blah blah blah. Yea, him. At Spaceland. Tuesdays this month. 2 left!

Wednesday? The ubercute Eenie Meenie Records (home of From Bubblegum to Sky, Irving, and Oranger, to name a few) is hosting an ubercute party at the uberhip Cinespace in Hollywood to celebrate the release of "The Dimension Mix," a CD celebrating the Dimensions 5 record label which made exceptionally weird and fun music for kids. Dimension 5 was run by electrinc pioneer Bruce Haack and children's dance teacher Esther Nelson, and folks like Beck & Stereolab and such are on the CD. Oh, and it benefits Cure Autism Now.

Mellowdrone's playing Thursday. They're good. Kinda like moody shoegazer stuff, but a touch more up. It's at Spaceland too.

Friday night? Well, listen up all you Sedaris freaks... The play "Book of Liz," written by the Talent Family team of wacko comedian Amy Sedaris and her equally wacko writer brother David, is only playing two more weekends at Hollywood's Blank Theatre. It's about a woman (first played by singer/actress/artist Ann Magnunson, now played by Amy Sedaris herself) who begins to doubt her life within her religious Squeamish community, which has been supported by her magnificient cheeseballs (traditional and smoky). Oh, and David's boyfriend directs. Keep it in the family, this family anyway, and it's guaranteed to be bizarrely amusing.

And speaking of wacky as shit, Saturday night at the M Bar in Hollywood presents even MORE off beat hilarity as Brently Hilborn presents: "Trapped in A Closet, Live." From Brently: "You know me. I'm an excitable young man with many crappy ideas, however passionate. This is indeed one of those. In one week, I'll be performing R. Kelly's wayward masterpiece "Trapped in the Closet" in its entirety...12 chapters of relentless tension on sexy ukulele with many special guests."

I once saw Brently re-enact the movie "Purple Rain" on the ukelele, and I still practically wet myself just remembering it. Go Go GO!

M Bar (Vine and Fountain)
Saturday January 21st @ 10 pm (benefits P-FLAG)
$5---proceeds go to P-FLAG

call 323-856-0036 for reservations.

That is all.

Funny Cuz It's True

From last week's LA Weekly...

Hipsters Must Die
10 signs of the (Yindie) apocalypse
by ALEC HANLEY BEMIS


Merriam-Webster’s 2004 word of the year was “blog”; the New Oxford American Dictionary’s 2005 word of the year was “podcast”; and in October the L.A. Times featured a front-page story about our own Mark “the Cobrasnake” Hunter. Yup, for some reason a weird subspecies of hipster has lately become the subject of ubiquitous media fascination. We call them “indie yuppies” — Yindies for short. They are well employed, or endowed with trust funds. They think chic gizmos (like digital cameras and iPods) go best with indie rock. And while their tastes are a little more stylish than the mainstream, they’re also sort of bland, boring and interchangeable. (Think: Urban Outfitters, Death Cab for Cutie, KCRW.)

Yindies are the bread and butter of publications like this one, of course, but I’m hoping 2006’s word of the year will be “backlash” — if only to make room for some edgier, less twee and affected forms of _expression. Unlike the hippies and Yippies, who spawned Charles Manson and the Weather Underground, Yindies will never do any real harm. But, armed with influence that far outweighs their actual numbers, they do occupy a precarious and troubling spot in our culture. Here’s a hypothetical picture of what might happen if the Yindie backlash doesn’t come. It’s not pretty.

1. Following in the footsteps of Johnny Cash and Neil Diamond, Billy Joel announces he will collaborate with Rick Rubin for a return to his roots as “a simple piano man.” In the autumn of ’06, Joel releases Moods Vol. I, the first album in a planned trilogy, featuring stripped-down covers by Leonard Cohen, Serge Gainsbourg, Ben Folds and Huey Lewis & the News — with Lewis and Joel duetting on “I Want a New Drug,” an allusion to Joel’s struggles with alcoholism. (This leads, in turn, to a surge in Lewis’ hipster cred; he tours the U.K. and major U.S. markets in the spring of ’07 with the Strokes as his backing band.)

2. Marking a radical turn in direction, Gucci deposes creative director Alexander McQueen and names American Apparel founder and CEO Dov Charney as his successor. Charney’s first couture line prominently features soft, brightly colored cotton, white piping and zippers.

3. In an effort to stanch mounting declines in readership, The New York Times adapts a blog-friendly format for its daily edition. A staffwide memo dictates that all weekday articles be reported in the form of top-10 lists following the inverted triangle format — wacky bits at the top, mundane shit at the end. (Stories about George Bush inevitably begin by quoting a funny malapropism, and conclude with the daily body count in Iraq.)

4. In a related effort, hundreds of newspapers switch Sunday supplements from the famously laughable Parade to a new general-interest edition of Vice magazine. The debut issue features a Terry Richardson portrait of Vice President Dick Cheney wearing only a camouflage Speedo and a “Victory is Ours” sun visor — a bold effort by the White House to connect with Generation Z.

5. Google.com purchases a 25 percent stake in Gawker Media, announcing plans to supplement major market sites like Wonkette (Washington, D.C.) and Defamer (Los Angeles) with local gossip sites GardenSite (New Jersey), Fargoed (North Dakota) and Omahipster (Nebraska).

6. It’s announced that the performers for 2007’s Super Bowl Halftime Show in Miami will be a new supergroup called The Clap Your Go Team Fire! The show will be sponsored by the newest addition to the MTV Networks family, Pitchfork Television.

7. On Wednesday, November 8, 2006, the morning after the California general election, it’s announced that a surprise write-in candidate has triumphed over Arnold Schwarzenegger. Our new governor is to be Steve Aoki, a.k.a. DJ Kid Millionaire — heir to the Benihana restaurant fortune and owner of the indie rock label Dim Mak (Bloc Party, The Kills, Das Oath). Aoki makes the following public statement: “I’m so inspired by the people of Los Angeles, the way they go to work every day. They’re fucking awesome.” His first official move is to make Silver Lake the new state capital, with plans to annex Brooklyn.

8. USA Today launches Pop Candy, a blog featuring trifles like a Q&A with American Idol also-ran Bo Bice and rumors of Gwen Stefani’s pregnancy. It’s written by a sexually ambiguous moppet named Whitney Matheson, who is pictured on the site sporting garage-rock bangs, Converse one-stars and high-water jeans.

9. Author Dave Eggers and director Spike Jonze begin work on a Tom Hanks–produced, live-action adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, combining an indie-flick sensibility with blockbuster production values. Sendak is quoted in The New York Times as saying, “They call, they write, they send post cards, they show me script changes, they send me pornographic pictures and models of the monsters. They’re very attentive.”

10. Actually, those last two items aren’t predictions. They’re true. Maybe it’s too late!

Do You Wanna Be A Rock Star?

Well, I got this rather interesting email the other day, and I think everybody needs to know about it. So spread the word!!! (Thanks, Kevin!)

******************************************
FYI, everybody. A new kid on the block. You might want to pass this
along to folks. The club that Sam used to have in O.C. was legendary. This
could become a pretty cool spot ...

Hi Friends,

I'm sending out this e-mail because I want to invite you to an Open House at my new club Safari Sam's on Tuesday, Jan.17th at 7:30 P.M. in order to meet as many of our local artists as possible. Why does a club owner want to meet with artists you might ask? Shouldn't I be in the
back counting receipts and money? I think its very important to show to you what we are all about here so that in the future the sales will come of themselves. I believe there should be a symbiotic relationship between artists, fans, club owners and promoters. I have come to this
because I have owned a club before which had this philosophy and after that I managed musicians, tour managed bands, booked bands across the country and have always felt an affection for artists... because frankly I love being entertained.

I love passion. I love truth. I love beauty. These are the great attributes artists can bring to a stage. This is what I will search high and dry for and what I will work very hard to bring to my stage. I want to create events that are interesting and not just the roving mill of band after band after band. Things can get very interesting when the unexpected happens.

This is where you come in. I want to make Safari Sam's the place to perform, the place to hang out and the place that has freaky things happening. How do we do this? I want you to tell me. What are the other clubs not doing? How do you want to be treated when you play here? How can we help promote your event here? Most important for me is how can we get a music scene happening in LA again? Do you have ideas on how the clubs can work together to get people out to see bands, poets, performers, art shows and others? I believe that if clubs worked together, we could grow the fan base so that it is more exciting to go out because cool things are happening. You, the artists, have great ideas and I want you to share them with my team and I. I want to meet you because I think it's important for you to know that I'm not full of malarkey on this.

Safari Sam's will open near the end of Jan. so I want to get this meeting now. I will be booking onto the stage, bands, poets, plays, lectures, sideshows, magicians, comedians, artists, performers, puppeteers and other interesting and fun stuff. We will not be limited by how popular the act is but by its passion, truth, beauty and fun.

So please come on the 17th if you can make it. And feel free to send this off to everyone you know that performs.

Please RSVP for us by clicking here: mailto:sam@safari-sams.com

SAFARI SAMS
5214 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90027
323-666-SAMS

Other important club info:
Booking agents are: Steve Zepeda from Bogarts, the Foothill, Blue Cafe and Que Sera in Long Beach.
Patrick Llewelyn, promoter around town here.
Ken Phebus, booking Vault 350 and many others.
Club occupancy is 465.

Thank you for this and I look forward to meeting you,
Sam Lanni

David & Goliath, Indie Style

The Rhino Records Store in Westwood is closing down.

The Rhino store has been there for 35 years, and was the origin of the label of the same name (although they are now separate entities). It is the only independent record store in Westwood, home of UCLA. It is one of few independent record stores in LA.

Rumors abound that the Rhino kids blame downloading and Amoeba Music.

Aron's Records in Hollywood, another great indie record store which served the music geeks for over 40 years, shut down suddenly back in November. Their business had been tanking for a few years, most notably after Amoeba Music moved in up the street.

Rumors abound that the Aron's kids were really pissed with Amoeba.

I didn't move to LA until 2001, but I came down to visit all the time. So often that people thought my best friend and I were dating (ick!). I used to shop at both of these places. I wouldn't set foot (and still try not to) into a large corporate chain - no Virgin Megastores or Towers or Wherehouses for me, if it could be avoided.

You see, I was lucky enough to grow up with one of the best indie records stores in the land - Lou's Records in Encinitas. Lou's was the kind of place that encouraged you to try new music, and you could hang out there for hours. Everybody who worked there was in a band (everyone else surfed). Music people know about Lou's - when I used to interview bands with some regularity, if they'd find out I was from Encinitas... they'd ask about Lou's. I was dating a guy from Boston and when we visited my hometown, he asked if we could go to Lou's. (And WHY wasn't he the one? Sigh...)

Then I went to Berkeley, and we had Rasputin's and Leopold's and Aquarius and Saturn and a bunch of other places that I can't remember the names of right now. Rasputin's sort of came to dominate the area, but those other places hung around. Then Amoeba opened, and became major competition to Rasputin's, despite the fact that it had less than half the square footage that Rasputin's has. Why? A great selection, awesome prices, and cool staff. (The people who ran Rasputin's were dicks.)

Then Amoeba opened their "big" store in San Francisco in an old bowling alley in the Haight. I remember the first time I walked in: I was so overloaded, I walked right back out and went back an hour later. It was bigger, but the same - great selection, great prices, and nice, knowledgeable staff.

Finally, in 2001 - Amoeba takes Los Angeles. And I was there, opening day. I even rang one of the first sales. Yep, I'd just moved to LA and was an employee of Amoeba Music. Info.

I was excited to be in LA, and went shopping at Aron's and Rhino. What I found was that the people at Aron's were pretty nasty and hated the Amoeba folks. Rhino was just way overpriced. I gave both several chances over the years, and never enjoyed my experience. I stayed at Amoeba for a year, and now work by Rhino so I still pop in there with regularity.

I am also not someone that can survive with MP3 files as a music library - I own VINYL. I like linear notes. I want the art, complete with its packaging. I know people who are getting rid of their CDs, which replaced their records, and will now have all their music at their fingertips on a computer. So yes, that can be a problem, but it isn't THE problem.

My feeling is that the people at Aron's were mean and they lost customers because of it. This is not to say the Amoeba staff are total angels (Of course, I'm biased... But I worked Information and dealt with hundreds of people every day - I certainly had my moments). For the most part, Amoeba strives itself on being helpful to customers. As for Rhino, a friend commented upon hearing of its closing, "Well, they are the Virgin Megastore of the Westside. Too expensive!"

There are still indie record stores in LA (Sea Level in Echo Park, Poo-Bah's in Pasadena, Rockaway in Silver Lake, and a great one in Venice - the name is escaping me, damnit!) but it's shocking to me that Westwood is letting Rhino go. Aren't college towns supposed to be places where independent music thrives? Not in LA, I guess. And blaming Amoeba is too easy... Many of the independent stores which existed before Amoeba in the Bay Area still exists today. And in Los Angeles, people have to drive great distances (or deal with heinous traffic and parking) in order to get to Amoeba. You'd think it would be easier to support your local store. So what happened?

Just throwing that out there. Discuss.

So Necessary

Um. Not. It's actually not.


"Bursting out of Glasgow in 1996, Belle & Sebastian took the U.K. by storm, going from an independent underground sensation to placing an album on the British Top 20 in just two short years. With their infectious brand of indie pop, Belle & Sebastian has become a college radio staple in the United States. Thanks to its bittersweet love songs and fanatically loyal fans, the band has sold over 2 million albums worldwide.

Now, the band's colorful lyrics and gorgeous, full-bodied melodies have provided Image Comics with the inspiration for a new kind of comics anthology. With the full-color, 144-page PUT THE BOOK BACK ON THE SHELF, a stellar collection of independent comic creators and cartoonists put their own spins on a cross section of Belle and Sebastian's songs, crafting stories inspired by the band's music, drawn from the band's entire catalog."

Read more here about these twee comics, especially for you sensitive bi-curious types!


(Thanks, Steve!)

Don't Put Another Dime In the Jukebox: the 2005 Top 10

Last year, I used a formula to describe my Top Ten favorites pieces of music for 2004. A friend of mine once said that all music reviews could basically be summarized as thus: "Like the bastard lovechild of (so & so) and (so & so) in (name of place) on (altering substance)." This is true. So, I apply that to releases of 2005.

But before I launch into my oh-so-important opinions, I just have to qualify: there's a lot of music out there. There's not a lot of money in my pocket. I also don't have the time to download like crazy. So what we have here is what I have access to, and I suspect there were plenty more great records that came out this year that I will discover in the future. That's one of the great things about music - you can keep finding great stuff as you go along... which is good, because I didn't get super excited about anything this year.

Then there's the fact that we all like different things, blah blah blah. So anyone who reads this blog with any regularity has an idea of what I'm into, and that's all over the map. This year, I think I let my inner hipster run amok. Here goes:

10. Death From Above 1979 - You're A Woman, I'm a Machine (Vice)
"Like the bastard lovechild of Queens of the Stone Age and Gang of Four in Amsterdam on L*U*S*T." Ok, this came out towards the end of 2004, which is the only reason it ranks at 10. I would have ranked it higher, because it is pure, balls out frenzied rock-dance-thrash-bliss. And live, they kicked my ass in the kindest Canadian way possible.


9. Low - The Great Destroyer (Sub Pop)

"Like the bastard lovechild of Joy Division and Blur in Glasgow on Heroin." The band would probably hate that description (being church folk and all), but this album is both menacing and humorous and melancholy much in that way that smack addicts hanging out in flophouses are.


8. Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah - s/t (self released)



"Like the bastard lovechild of the Talking Heads and the Dresden Dolls at the Circus on Nitrous." Ordinarily, this would sound horrifying to me. But this band pulls off the indie quirk in the most interesting and hooky way... and I had no desire to run screaming. Hand claps (as advertised!) and everything.


7. Lady Sovereign - Vertically Challenged EP (Chocolate Industries) "Like the bastard lovechild of Monie Love and Ms. Dynamite in London cranked on Caffeine." She's speedy, cheeky, and she jams.

6. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals - Cold Roses (Lost Highway)"Like the bastard lovechild of the Grateful Dead and Neil Young in Nashville on Ego." Ryan's at his best when he's a fucked up country singer. At least, I think so. Hell, he released 3 albums this year alone - if he can't self edit, then I'll pick the version of Mr. Adams I like best! (And don't think I don't crush on this guy the more snotty he gets. Damnit.)


5. Iron & Wine - Woman King EP (Sub Pop) "Like the bastard lovechild of Nick Cave and Nick Drake in the Southern Swamps on Moonshine." A groovy gothic barnstomper of a collection, filled with religious imagery and songs about girls. And the electric guitar, even! (Oh, and I liked the thing he did with Calexico ok, but this is way better.)


4. Fruit Bats - Spelled in Bones (Sub Pop)

"Like the bastard lovechild of the Shins and the Flying Burrito Brothers in Topanga Canyon on loads of Marijuana." A sweet and sour pop gem, full of indie hippie love and confusion.


3. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Howl (Red Ink/RCA)
"Like the bastard lovechild of The Band and Spiritualized in Memphis on Religion." The BRMC boys find God, the blues, and a little honky tonk taste good with a touch of their old school gee-tar fuzz. Some fans may have felt a bit betrayed that they didn't come off sounding like Jesus & Mary clones again, but I thought they did this Americana thing pretty darned good.


2. Rogue Wave - Descended Like Vultures (Sub Pop)
"Like the bastard lovechild of Neutral Milk Hotel and Fleetwood Mac in Big Sur on 'Shrooms, man." Hell, I don't know what Zach Rogue is singing half the time, but the other half is great. The melodies, the harmonies... There is something majestic about it. This album simply soars.


1. M.I.A. - Arular (XL)
"Like the bastard lovechild of Missy Elliott and the Slits in the Carribean on ecstasy." Booty politics for this generation rules the nation. This rebel girl knows how to take care of business, and I have yet to tire of this mishmash of third world hip hop dancehall electronica whatever... Free your mind and your ass will follow... indeed.

You know, both Rogue Wave and Iron & Wine made my list last year too... but they are just that awesome, really! Other stuff that didn't quite make the cut but I really enjoyed: 50 Foot Wave's Golden Ocean which had Kristin Hersh screaming like a banshee. Bloc Party's Silent Alarm was more disco bauhaus than the Fall, and very tasty, especially in the dark. The Mark Lanegan & Isobell Campbell EP Ramblin' Man is a sweetly haunting offering promising an interesting full length. Formerly shelved and then shared as a time capsule, Greg Dulli's Amber Headlights was also a nice holdover till the upcoming Twilight Singers album (expected in April); harsh and groovy songs, just like we like 'em. Sharon Jones brought back the funk old school style with the delicious Naturally. One guilty pleasure of mine was the self titled Dead 60's Rancid/Clash ripoff - because they did it so well. LCD Soundsystem's first full length was pretty great most of the time," fo' sho'," but I really dug getting all the earlier singles on the bonus CD... what can I say? I'm coming to love the Decemberists' Picaresque more & more, their stories of love and angst picking away at my cold, cold heart. Broadcast's Tender Buttons was a surprise of beautiful pop electronica, with more direction than I've heard from them, ever. I got excited about Sleater-Kinney again because The Woods rocked so hard, and "Golddigger" was the goddamn single of the year, with Kanye West's CD Late Registration backing it up most of the time. And how about that reggaeton? I don't know who half the acts are, but I'm learning. If it's in Spanish and my Colombian mom hates it, then there's something good there - right now I just appreciate that it sounds kinda different & makes ya move.

And that's just what I remember.Music is a good thing, let's keep digging it up.

All You Want Is Entertainment

"I am the DJ, I am what I play..." - Bowie. Duh.

I've been a DJ since about 1991. For 10 years, from '91-'01, I DJed at the best college radio station in the world. I could pretty much play whatever I wanted, with some very interpretive guidelines. It was wonderful.

Mostly, people liked what I did. In that world, you will always have fans, and you will always have haters. For example, I was one of the first kids to play techno. I was absolutely fascinated by it. There were two other DJs playing it, and one guy gave me all kinds of tips on where to find it (clubs and record stores). Now, this wasn't all I played, because I'm a rock and roll girl (and a cumbia girl and a country girl and a soul girl and a heck of a lot more). I mean, I practically broke Creeper Lagoon. How much more indie can you get? I kid, I kid.

When I would play this early electronica, though, it would galvanize listeners. Either they would call and be excited about it, or they would call and berate me for playing mindless drivel. "Drum machines have no soul!"

In 2000, I ventured out into the bar/club world. I was afraid to do this because I was a bit of a personality on the air, and had problems with horny lovestruck male listeners who believed I was their soulmate. When I DJed publicly, I always wore wigs and costumes and fake eyelashes and crazy makeup. It worked, because I ran into the door guy for a place where I DJed a good 6 months, and he had no clue who I was when I said hi to him on the street.

The problem with DJing at clubs and bars is that everyone has an opinion and is more than happy to share it with you. The most popular one I get is: "Hey, can you play dance music? This isn't dance music." Now, this is very interpretive, "dance music." If I'm playing at a punk bar, then the Misfits or the Clash count as dance music. A place with a real dance floor may deserve some hip hop and funk. Some folks only want to dance to new wavey stuff like New Order or the B52s.

So when someone says that to me, I usually say: "Well, what is dance music to you?" And they say, "Well, whatever is dancey." And I may say, "Well, that girl is dancing to Siouxsie and the Banshees, and you aren't, so what do you want?" Then they get all confused.

Another really annoying thing, both on radio and in venues, is when people request something totally out of whack with what you are currently playing. On the radio, I could be doing a country set and get a call for hip hop. At a dance club, someone will want the Buzzcocks. (If I never hear the Buzzcocks again, it'll be too soon... one bar I worked at practically demanded that band hourly). I will usually try to get to a request, in a smooth fashion if it is possible, but that is often not good enough. All DJs go through this.

That said... When you play a song that a caller goes nuts for, and wants to know more about... it's great. I love sharing music with people. And when the club you're DJing is going off the hook, and the crowd is loving you and you are loving them... it's a blast. And beyond rewarding.

So tonight I'm off to the Short Stop in Echo Park, to DJ what I expect to be a mellow night. Most folks are either wiped out from the recent holiday fun, or totally sick. (My DJ buddy has bronchitis, fer chrissakes!) Hopefully, folks will just ride the ride with me.